The Light Wraps You
by karrenia
Summary: Dean is in a coma so Sam does what any good brother would do; stand vigil and hope for the best.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Belongs to the WB networks and its creators and producers: as is not mine. References events from the episode "Faith." The title inspired by the poem of the same name by Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. 

"The Light Wraps You" by Karen

Sam never did like hospitals, if pressed he would have to say its the combination of both antiseptic mixture of chemicals combined with the startched and pressed uniforms of the staff combined with the distinct smell of sick people. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he'd could ever recall being sick or having to visit some one in the hospital. One would think that after everything they've been throug, it would insted of his older brother, Dean, lying in that hospital bed, it would be the little brother.

Sam sits in the chair by Dean's beside, holding onto his brother's hand, watching him breath, shallowly in and out, trying to think of what to say.  
Sam's not the type to hold grudges, all it does is waste a lot of time and energy,  
when that time could be put to better uses. The one grudge he is carrying around with him, okay maybe two grudges, is the untimely death of his girlfriend, Jess, and and the continual absence of their father.

One would think that after twenty plus years that their father would know when his sons needed him. Instead, he's stuck here in some southern town waiting for his brother to come out of his coma.

Dean' has always been the favorite, the golden child, the one who always knew what to do and what to say, and even when he didn't have a clue, he certainly had the charm and the confidence to get away with the most outrageous stunts. They wouldn't be in this posititon, to begin with, if not for a certain 'faith healer.'

The strange part, which is becoming more and more common since Sam rejoined the family business of hunting demons and removing the threat of the demonic and the paranormal, is that in order to heal the 'afflicted party, the reverend,  
removed the good, for lack of a better word,'spiritual energy from another living person.

Except the Reverend, seemingly was unaware of the source of his power.  
His wife, on the other hand, was perfectly aware of what was happenng and she, in fact, enocouraged and ran some of it.

Sam isn't sure exactly what to make of that, he knows that evil exists. He knows that it takes many forms, and he certainly isn't going to have a crisis of faith of his fundamental beliefs over it.

He is just feeling out of sorts and irritated that because of many peoples misguided efforts he could very well lose his brother to an untimely death.

Sam jolts upright from his chair and walks over to the window of the Dean's hospital room facing the east, and grasps a corner of the ivory curtains.

Sam yanked the curtains aside and looked out at the new minted dawn. It has only been a little over twelve hours before they put an end to the danger, and he's stil a little ambivalent over the whole thing. Through the gaps in the parted curtains rays of sunlight dart in through the leaded glass windows and fall on the floor in tiny circles, and the move on to Dean's unconcsious form underneath the blankets. Sam turns around and follows the patterns of the beams of sunlight watching as they form cross-hatching patterns on Dean's face. As Sam watches his brother's eyelids flutter and his lips curve in that sardonic amused smile that Sam remembers and has often amused and irritated him at the same time.

"Dean," Sam says, releasing his brother's hand and rubbing his temples," did I ever tell you, that even though you could be one stern bastard at times, and a real jer. I admired you for that. You knew what you knew, and you never backed down from any challenge."

Dean stirs in the bed and turns his head as if, unconciously, he too is following the patterns of light as they move across the room. Sam smiles and resumes his seat by the bed. "I guess, it's going to be okay, bro."


	2. Come the Day

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to its creators and producers; it is not mine. Picks up shortly after where

"The Light Wraps You Left Off

"Come the Day" by Karen

The facts would not change no matter how much Sam Winchester wished that they would. His brother was in a coma and there was precious little that all of the doctors and medical experts could do about it. Sam sat in the chair by Dean's beside holding onto one ghost-pale hand that had poked out from beneath the coverlets of the hospital bed wondering just how much of any of this that Dean could actually hear and feel. A lot about this situaiton simply did not make sense, and Sam was not thinking about it in medical terms.

After all Dean's condition was not caused by any biological failure on the part of his body, instead it was due to the spirt creature that they had both faced down and thought that they had contained.

There had been times over the years that Sam had wished he had never been brought back into the Winchester family business, hunting and elliminating creatures. And in back corner of his mind, Sam wondered if his brother had ever had similar doubts.  
Dean would never admit to expressing those doubts aloud, even when it had been just the two of them, and especially not when it came to their father.

Dean had always been the good son, the obidient son, the golden boy.

It was Sam that to both his brother and his father's way of thinking, had strayed from the path, had gone off on his own to college, tried to get away from the weridness, but inevitablely he should have known it drag him back.

So here he was, stuck in a hospital room, the intenstiy of both his grip on his older brother's hand;  
the intensity of his gaze pleading with whatever guaridan spirits watched over fools, madmen, and brothers, to bring Dean back.

"Dean, I don't know if you can hear me or not," Sam said, "but I'm going to talk and you are going to listen,  
Sam exhaled a tiny chuff of inheld breath, blinking his eyes, wondering why he cared if anyone saw him shed buckets of tears. "Not like you have a choice about whether or not you listen to me right now. So here goes. You see, I really thought I had an opportunity to forge my own path, be the master of my own destiny, but when I saw that thing, that creature staring at me with those empty eye-sockets, I thought my number was up, you know what I mean?"

A slight increase in the pressure of the hand in his own made Sam believe it was Dean's way of responding, but that may have been just wishful thinking, in any case, Sam took as the first positive step toward Dean's recovery and kept going. "I guess, you do, since we're here." Sam used his free hand to gesture around at their surroundings. "Look, maybe I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, maybe I do, but you need to promise me one thing, the way you always took care of me when we were kids, you need to wake up, because I don't know what I'd without you."

Dean's eyelids twitched and the light flitering through the room's curtains turned the black of his eyelatches a midnight blue, the air from the ceiling fan above their hands creating subtle patterns in his close-cropped hair. In the back of his mind, Sam hoped that it meant that Dean was fumbling his way towards the light, struggling to get out of whatever dark place that his mind found itself, and wake up.

Sam's guess was not far off the mark.

Dean was in a dark place, but it was more due to a ground-choking fog than actual absence of sunlight.

He could not recall with any exact detail how he had gotten here because the last thing Dean could remember with any certainy was being in the parking lot, surrounded by people trying to back out and jaming the exits,  
he had come to confront the spirit creature who had been sucking the energy out of the locals, the thing had only made the briefests of momentary contacts, and the next he recalled afeter blacking out and losing consciousness, was Sam bending over, offering a hand to help him to his feet, and he was here, wherever the hell 'Here' was.

The fog was all around him, but Dean was not going to learn anymore about his present circumstances by just standing around in one place, he began moving forward, picking what he felt to be a northerly direction at random, and by feel, wishing that he had had his compass in the back pocket of his jeans, but it was not there.

The sound of his booted feet on the soft ground made plop plop nosies as he kept walking as the fog parted softly to let more flitered moonlight down through breaks in the tree tops and broken columns of chunks of stone.

He appeared to be walking through some kind of old abandoned park,and from the looks of the place nobody had passed through this place in some time.

Encounter

A figure stood by one of the broken columns that had once been part of a swing set as Dean approached the figure did not change its stance, rather it appeared to have been waiting for him. At this point, Dean did not care, although he had not lost all of his protective instincts honed over years of working and hunting with both his father and with his brother, Sam.

"It's about time," said the figure.

"Sorry," said Dean, "Didn't know I was here to keep an appointment., maybe next time you should call ahead first.  
And here I thought my number had been perememantly disconnected."

"If you don't shut up and listen to me, it just might be."

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" Dean demanded, "My guaridan angel?" I don't believe in that kind of mumbo-jumbo."

"I am aware of that," the other said. "Most people do not, and that very skepticsm can be both harmful and beneficial, in your case its a lifestyle choice."

"You have gotta be kidding me," Dean snapped in return.

"I could," the other replied. "I have been known to indulge in that sort of tinkering with the fates of mortals, but in all seriousness we simply do not have time for that sort of tinkering."

"Great, cyrptic and creepy to boot, " Dean muttered under his breath as he stuffed his cold hands into the pockets of his jacket tyring to get some warmth. He looked down at the ground, then up at the sky, grayish blue and cloudy then back at the still unidentifed other. It was nice to have someone to talk to, but did the guy have to be so damned cryptic and roundabout with his answers? Dean figured that maybe just maybe this guy had grabbed the wrong Winchester to dispense his cryptic wisdom to, after all, Sam was the one who loved this kind of stuff, maybe he should tell the guy that.

"Pay attention, Dean." the other said, sounding more annoyed now. "You stand on the brink, this place, all around you is just a manifestation of your subconcisous."

"Great, a figment of my imagination is being all mysterious on me."

"I'm not a figment of your imagination, just the setting of our conversation is, please try and understand, would you?" The diffuse moonlight seemed to bend around the specter or whatever it was, and it appeared that the leather coat that he wore grew the shadow of black wings. Dean blinked and in the few seconds it took for him to focus again, a black-winged, beady-eyed crow had come to roost on the right shoulder of other man.

Dean stared at the crow, the crow stared back; Dean was the one to break eye contact first.

"Okay, pretending that I understand any of this, what do you want with me?

"I need you to understand that you have started down a path, and you must net allow yourself to be sidetracked. "

"Sure, no problem."

"Look, that very nocholance and arrogance was the very thing that almost got you killed, so if you want to leave this place, please take what I have to say seriously."

"Sure."

The other let out a heavy sigh, and reached up a hand to stroke the glossy feathers of the bird on his shoulder. "I'll take that as a yes." It's time for you go back. Do try and think about and use what you've learned here, moving forward, will you?"

Conclusion "Welcome back to the land of the living," Sam whispered as Dean sat bolt upright in bed, blinking and staring around.

"Sam, is that you?" Dean exclaimed, reaching out both arms straight out from his body and flailing around wildly,  
finding nothing solid to latch onto. Suddenly he was both angry and afraid, and at the moment, the fear was stronger.

"Yeah, it's me." Sam almost choked out. "Who else would it be?"

"It's good to be back" Dean replied. "I had the strangest dream. What time is it?"

"It's 7am, you hungry?" replied Sam, blinking back tears of relief and joy to hear his brother's voice. Sam recahed up and wiped away the wet tracks the tears had made on his cheeks with the back of his sleeve as he stood up and went over to the other side of the bed where he had stashed both of their belongings. He squatted down, unzippered the back and took out a plastic bag that held a sad-looking grilled cheese sandwich.

"I could eat." Sam handed Dean the sandwich. "Thanks, it's gotta be better than hospital food.  
"We'll go and get something more substanial once they release you from here."

"I dreamt that I was a gloomy abandoned park, and I meant a crow who turned into a guy, then he told me I had too much to do to let myself be sidetracked and told me I was being sent back."

"Agreed, a very strange dream." Despite his own better judgement Sam allowed a small, wry grin to slip out and he said. "Truth to tell I was getting a tad bit impaitent for you to wake up. It's nice to hear your voice, surly and icorrigble as ever." You feeling better?"

"Yeah, good to see you too, and it's good to be back," Dean returned the grin.


	3. Like a Moth to a Flame

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and it's creator, Tim Kripke; as do all of the Winchesters; they are not mine.

Notes: The story picks up shortly after where "Come the Day" left off and contains references to the events in the 2nd season episode "Crossroad Blues, verging on the AU side of things.

"Like a Moth to a Flame" by Karen

Sam stood outside of the hospital, his leather coat draped loosely over one arm, staring blankly at the misty damp of the early evening air. He supposed that he really should be back inside with his brother and his father, tossing back a few drinks, the ones that Dean had sunck in from the trunk of the Impala while the nurses, the doctor and the rest of the hospital staff weren't looking. He hated being in there, and this time it was more than just the bland pastel-tinted decor and the that too clean antiseptic aroma.

Sometimes it was just all too much, really. It would be much simpler to have to deal with what had just transpired in a logical, reasonable manner; a manner that bore zero relationship to the world of the paranormal and occult. Because if it did they wouldn't have to worry about any deals with the devil, or more to the point, a deal that his father had just made with one particular and very intimate demon, one that had a vested interest in the Winchester family.

Sam thought about that a few minutes, as the cold of approaching evening settled in and he moved to take his coat off of his arm and put it on. He briefly considered making a bolt for it, taking the keys from Dean and taking the Impala for a spin, randomly picking a direction for the sheer need to do something, anything at all.

As soon as they gave Dean a clean bill of health and released him from the hospital, he would be really ticked off, but just at the moment, Sam really did not care.

Sam began walking towards the spot in the parking lot where they'd left the Impala, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans when he stopped abruptly and began walking back towards the entrance. It was nothing he felt, or heard, or saw, it was more like a twinge on his nerve-endings, not unlike the buzzing sound he felt whenever he recieved one of his premonitions.

"Is anyone there?" Sam asked, glancing around at the empty parking lot.

"It has always struck me as an incredible concidence that you and your family have managed to live as long as you have," a woman's voice answered his question.

"What?" "You heard me." A woman dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt strolled towards where Sam stood her hair tied up in a loose auburn-colored pony tail, a faint if mocking smile on her face.

"Sam Winchester, isn't it?" Alllow me to introduce myself, Shelia O'Connor, and you have no idea how close a shave it was, but I'm getting ahead of myself, sorry about that."

"Not that I want to be rude, or anything, but what are you doing here and how do you know so much about me and my family?" asked Sam warily.

"Because as I believe I mentioned, we've got a stake in what happens from here on out," Shelia replied.

"Your brother, Dean, as you know, was in rough shape, his number was up, and there was very little modern medical science, as wonderful as it is, could do to save him."

"So, if you know all of that," Sam griped, "then you know about the deal."

"Yes, well, I don't need to tell that, boyo, that there are more things out there then are dreamt of your philosphies, to borrow a famous quote from the Immortal Bard, if you will."

"So?" Sam demanded impatiently.

"So, you know what your brother is like, he came this close," Sheila held up her hands with the palms facing out toward Sam with her fingers only inches spaced apart, "to crossing over to the other side, and if he had."

"He would have died"

"Well, yes, the only problem with that is that he would have become a spiirit, a spook, whatever you want to call it, are you still following me?"

"Okay, what's your point," Sam asked.

"MY point, is that he wasn't ready to let go of this life, and he is, was too much of fighter, so his spirit would have become an angry spirit, the kind that your family has spent almost its entire time fighting against."

"And that's why our dad felt that he had to make that deal, the one they didn't want me to find out about"  
"Yes, but that's not why I'm here, Sam." Shelia sighed, her green eyes intent on his own.

"Then why are you here?"

"My counterpart came to warn your brother about choices and whatnot, I'm here to help you."

"No offense, miss, but I fail to see how this is helping me."

"I understand, really I do," Shelia paused and raised her hands to ruffle them through her hair, and a flux of varying emotions flashing through her pale face, an understanding look in her green eyes, and Sam had a sudden thought cross his mind, maybe, just maybe, things would really all work out for the best.

"Once you leave here, promise me one thing," Sam."

"Sure, whatever, man."

"Trust me, whatever has happened in the past, the deaths of your loved, your mother, your girlfriend,  
Jessica," you have got to stop beating yourself up," Shelia paused and sighed again. "It was not your fault."

"So you're tellling it was all just random chance, that there was nothing we could have done to prevent it"  
I am so not buying it"

"Fine, just stop blaming yourself, it's not going to help anyone, or yourself, and certainly not where you're headed." Shelia paused and glanced around in all directions at the empty parking lot.

"It's hard, really, speaking to you like this, mostly because I'm coming from a different perspective than yours."

"What do you mean," Sam asked, interested and willing to extend his trust to this strangel but attractive girl that seemed to know so much and was willing to be so forthcoming with what she knew.

"I mean, I feel like I've come into a movie in the middle of third reel without the benefit of having seen the previews, so I've only got bits and pieces of the storyline." Shelia said. "Catch my drift?"

"I guess so," Sam nodded agreeably and motined for her to continue.

"Up until now you've only dealt with the hositile, angry, and let's face the downright evil things out there."

"Shelia, if I may call you that," Sam whispered, "don't tell me, you're my guardian angel?"

"No, but I am here on behalf of those who want to be sure that you succeed in your mission, does that count?" she replied as she took several small steps towards him and placed her hands on his face.

"I guess so," Sam replied, feeling some if not all of the tension of the past three days seep out of his body and mind at her touch. "Will I be seeing you again?"

"Who knows, you just might?" Shelia replied, back pedalling and then strode off to the edge of the building, back into the shadows and disappeared.


	4. Stronger at the Broken Places

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erick Kripke and the CW, as do the characters of Dean and Sam Winchester; they are not mine. Note: The story references events from the 1st season episode "Bloody Mary", but it takes a different slant on it given that "Mary" is the being that is in possession of a girl in trouble that falls for Dean. 

"Stronger at the Broken Places" by Karen

'After a while, "Dean, thought as he his brother Sam pulled into yet another small town," the scenery more or less got imprinted on his mind as one big multi-colored blur.'

Towns came and went and to his way of thinking, it all pretty much came averaged out to one pretty basic equation: You came in, found the creepy spirit, saved the day, and got out, no questions asked, well, not the potentially dangerous and awkward ones at least. On the whole, Dean reflected. "I think I prefer it that way."

However, it did make getting involved with a pretty young girls a lot simpler, if he didn't have to tell them everything about their lives or risk getting too romantically and personally attached.

As Dean pulled into the parking lot of the motel for the evening with the rhythmic and deep baritone of one of his favorite Metallica songs playing on the radio, Dean could not help thinking of himself as some kind of modern day ghost/demon-hunting version of the classic film star, James Dean. As he pulled into a parking spot with his brother, Sam dozing in the passenger seat next to him, Dean mused that he rather liked the comparison.

A short while later, Dean had secured the rooms and the keys, parking the Impala in the parking lot, and waking Sam up. Times like these, Dean often wondered how his younger brother could managed to sleep just about anywhere and make it look so damn easy.

Elsewhere, a young girl ran across the esplanade, dodging in and out of traffic, here in southern California, even at almost half past midnight traffic was still a going concern, so she had to be careful, in the back of her mind Gloria Mitchell thought, "here I am, on the run from something big and scary, only to get wiped out by a car speeding down the highway to become a victim of a hit-and-run. Come on, give me a break, the universe cannot be nowhere that lame.'

Following along in her wake, Gloria's shadow flattened out behind here. and in the dim moonlight seemed much larger than it should have under normal circumstances. She kept running, uncertain even before the weirdness has and the headaches had begun just what exactly she was running from. It was hard to define, and even her folks were a bit frightened and confused by what was happening to her, although they never said so in those terms. Some part of her nature wanted to rebel against being either be treated like she was crazy or mentally ill, another part of her wanted something definite and reassuring to cling to, and although she her folks were worried and cared for her, this was something that they simply could not help understand and overcome.

Gloria kept running, dodging in and around obstacles, following an instinct that she was not coconsciously aware that she had, trying to find someone who understand, and more importantly help to deal with her problem, at last.

As Gloria paused by the glass fronts of stores and shuttered windows of homes and apartment complexes, as she paused a chill crept into the air, one that did not come form the direction of the Pacific Ocean only a few hundred miles to the southwest.

A few of the more sensitive, and Sam and Dean Winchester were among them, felt that breeze like the merest touch of gossamer thin fingernails scratching across the surface of their minds. The thoughts of the presence were vague, hazy and not all distinct, but in the few and far between moments of clarity, the presence referred to itself as "Mary," or Bloody Mary, for when the rage and the frustration, and the longing to manifest in a solid presence grew too much for it, referred to itself as "Bloody Mary."

At the motel

"Something's up," Dean muttered as he rolled over in the motel room bed.

In the neighboring bed Sam stirred and muttered. "Yeah, I felt it, too. Doesn't mean that it has anything to do with us."

"Come on, Sammy," Dean flashed his wicked grin, Sam knew he should be more enthusiastic when either one of them got the heebie-jeebies that the paranormal were stirring, but frankly right at this moment he just did not care.

"Think we should check it out?" Sam asked all the same.

"Not before breakfast," Dean replied, "I've got some leftover pizza in the micro fridge, we can warm it up in the hotel's microwave, or you can eat it cold, whatever, man."

"Better than nothing," Sam nodded.

The Winchester brothers had finished eating breakfast and while Dean went out to check on the car Sam remained behind to clean up the mess. 'Dean had a lot of good points, but the sheer detritus he left behind was nothing short of staggering, Sam thought as he wadded up the mess and dumped it all into the trash bin.

Meanwhile, Dean had just finished reassuring himself that the Impala was still in good working condition after nearly being totaled a few short weeks ago, and the garage mechanic that had reworked both the body and the internal workings had done a reasonably decent job.

Dean straightened up and was nearly knocked off his feet by the slight figure of a pretty girl that staggered into, hair blown every which way by the wind, sweating and obviously in state of exhaustion and panic.

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy," Dean said reassuringly to the girl as he held her by her trembling shoulders and turned her around so he could look her in the face.

"Can't, can't stop now," the girl panted, "Have to keep running."

"Look, you're obviously in some kind of trouble, and you look like you need help."

"I don't know," replied the girl.

"Look, if you need help," Dean said and winked, "then you've come to the right place. I'll help you."

"I don't know about this," she stammered.

"Trust me," Dean replied.

"Who are you?" she asked

"Dean Winchester."

"Gloria Mitchell," she replied. "Can you really help me. This is way weird, but I feel like I know you from somewhere, but that can't be true, right. Like, we've never even met before this, so how can that be, huh?"

"Oh, I know what you mean," Dean replied. "Look, let's get the hell outta here, and I want you to meet my brother, Sam."

"Let's go," Gloria replied.

Scene 3 Enter Bloody Mary (INSERT)  
The lights began to flicker intermittently on and off, and Gloria noted with more than a little alarm that two Winchester brothers were exchanging significant glances and non verbal signals with each other. It had been several hours since she could last recall the warning signs of an oncoming migraine headache, so she could not be entirely certain of her perceptions at this point, but this had to be something bad.

In the reflective surface of the mirror above the beds Gloria could see her reflection, and she wondered if perhaps she had finally lost her mind because the face that looked back at her was not her own.

"We got bogeys," Dean whispered to Sam, you bring the stuff?"

"Yeah, take a gander in the mirror,' Sam whispered back.

"Hell, and here and I thought we were well rid of that thing." griped Dean going over to his back and pulling out a flintlock pistol in one hand and a small bag containing rock salt and a vial of holy water. "Sam, tell me something, is that what I think it is, or am I going crazy?"

"I'll leave the speculation on your mental state for a more qualified person than me," Sam replied."

"Just answer the damn question, Sam," Dean griped.

"Is he always like this?" Gloria asked, a little of her fear alleviated by the good-humored ribbing between the two brothers.

"Pretty much, Gloria, darlin," Dean drawled.

"Dean, a little focus, please," Sam muttered.

"Can I say it?"

"Go ahead, if you feel that you must." Sam sighed and made his own preparation. He didn't like the feel or the way this situation was shaping up, but he knew better than to doubt his own instincts and experience. He too was puzzled as to how the spectral manifestation could be here and now when the last they had seen of it was forcibly trapping into it original mirror somewhere in the back East.

"She's… back…." Dean said with dramatic effect.

"Who's back?

"Mary. It's complicated, Gloria," Dean added. "Maybe you'd best get out of here."

"I'm not going anywhere," a chilly voice replied.

Gloria jerked upright as if it she were being tugged along by invisible strings. In the next instant her shoulders went rigid and her eyes rolled back in her head until the whites showed.

"Uh oh," Dean said. "This can't be good."

"You thinking what I'm thinking, bro?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, classic case of spirit possession. Any bright ideas?"

"We can't kill her, but maybe we can help her."

The force of the invisible blow but solid blow sent Dean reeling across the length of the room with his body feeling every bump and bruise sustained in mid-flight before fetching up against the opposite wall nearest the doorway. He grunted from the pain and ground his teeth, forcing himself to stand up and rejoin the fight. "Damn inconsiderate of the spirit to fight dirty," he muttered under his breath. As he got to his feet his legs buckled underneath and in no uncertain terms indicated that the would much rather stay right where they were, instead of carrying him back into the fray.

Dean cursed a blue streak when he discovered that he leg was broken," Damn all the luck!"

"Dean" Sam yelled.

"Just get the rid of the thing, will you!"

Sam tore his gaze away from his injured brother and turned his attention back to the writhing figure of Gloria Mitchell, he had not seen too many cases of genuine spiritual possession, and seeing the amount of sheer agony and pain on the girl's face, he was grateful for that, and he wished with every fiber of his being to have never witness another one.

Sam went into action, trying to recall everything that his father had ever taught them about removing a spirit from its host body, wishing not for the first time that their father was present to advise him. 

Meanwhile Gloria gyrated in a smaller and smaller circles, muttering in an undertone and the green of her eyes once more back, Sam could the girl silently pleading with him to help her. Sam clenched his fists and snatched up the bag of salt rock and holy water and without thinking too much more about it, rushed forward, used one hand to grasp the girl, and then with the other dumped the bag's contents onto the girl's face.

She staggered and reflexively wrenched free of his grasp, choking and spluttering. When she could breathe again, she jolted backwards and onto the floor. The chill in the room went up several notches and Sam could see the plume of his breath on the air. 

Sam glanced back at Dean, "You okay?"

"I've been better."

Gloria, in the silence of her mind could feel the 'other' as she had come to think of it, the thing that called itself Bloody Mary, fighting to get out of and she mentally ordered it to leave her the hell alone." Mary screeched and then went silent and as if it had decided to obey her silent command, vacated the premises.

Several hours later "I don't know if I told you this before," Gloria said, "But thank you for saving me."

Dean airily waved in response. "Don't mention it, it's our job description."

"You need medical attention, Dean. Add to that, the phone service in here sucks," Sam said as he got up and ran over to the door,. "I'm going back to the office and call 911 from there. You gonna be okay until I get back?" asked Sam as he eyed both his brother's prone form in the bed and that of the girl, Gloria Naylor lying unconscious in other bed.

Dean's right leg had bent and twisted in a way that looked like someone had taken it and forcibly wrenched into all the way around so that it jutted out an angle. The pain of that injury had to be incredible.

Just looking at it and the paler than normal skin of his older brother's face made Sam wince. Dean moaned and placed his hands over his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I've survived worse than this, and I don't think I need some doctor poking and prodding me."

"Damn it, Dean, why do you have to be so damn stubborn?" Sam muttered running a hand through his tangled brown hair in order to relive some of his in held tension and frustration.

"You know why, I can't help, we Winchesters are a bunch of stubborn bastards."

"I guess you're feeling better if you can make jokes at a time like this," Sam replied and uttered a short barking laugh that had a little bit of mirth in it.

"Just go make the call," Dean said.

Sam nodded a walked out of the door into the motel hallway, shutting the door behind him.

Conclusion

Gloria woke up with a cottony dry taste in her mouth and with only vague memory of the events of the past eight hours. The headaches and the auras flashing in front of her green eyes seemed to be gone, so that was a major relief, but somehow she felt like she was missing out on something very important. She rolled over on the bed so she was lying on her stomach instead of on her back and looked into the mirror. 

Gloria breathed a deep sigh of relief that the reflection that looked back at her was her own, and not that other indefinable other that had been haunting her life for the past five years. "Mary's gone," Gloria whispered. "To whatever powers that be that are listening, thank you, thank you."

"You know, my brother and I might have had something to do with that," Dean said.

"Oh, you're awake," Gloria replied starting a little bit. "I want to thank you, for everything you've done for me."

"Like I said earlier, don't mention it," Dean replied.

"Is Sam coming back? He's been gone a long time."

"He must be on the phone with the EMTs or something. He'll be back soon."

"That leg looks really bed, is there anything I can do, like maybe go get a bucket of ice from the hallway."

"Good idea.

Gloria went out to the hallway, found the ice machine and filled it up with ice cubes, then returned to the room. Dean's face was paler than it had been and he looked like something the cat refused to drag in. Gloria almost dropped the ice bucket, but a more sensible side of her nature realized that would be stupid and sat on the edge of the bed to put ice on the injured leg.

"When Sam comes back he might think this was a compromising position,' teased Dean.

"Do you, I mean think," Gloria began and then trailed off into an awkward silence.

"Nah, we're big boys," Dean replied as he reached over and drew Gloria to him. "That should be enough ice for now, I feel like a damn fool for getting myself into this situation, but, we're in California, so what the hell."

"Very charming," mused Gloria, that line work on all the girls?"

"Up until now. You have to an objection to it?"

"Not so much," she replied. "It's just not very romantic."

"I'll take that under advisement," he replied.

"Dean, I, oh, what the hell," Gloria broken down in choking sobs. "I don't know what to say, so, what the hell, just hold me. "

"I can do that," Dean smiled and pulled her in closer to his own body until he could feel the trembling and the tears come to a stop; they remained that way for a very long time. 


End file.
